Empty Nest
by paganpunk2
Summary: When a fellow socialite denigrates Dick's career choices to Bruce's face, the billionaire's empty nest syndrome is rekindled. T for language.


**Author's Note: Sorry for the delay in 'Turkey Song,' but I got a neat little notebook computer just for writing and wanted to break it in with a stand-alone. 'Turkey Song' will have a new chapter up before the end of the weekend. It wouldn't be so long except that I'm out of town for the next few days. As for this piece, I wanted to write something with a slightly gentler beginning to both Nightwing and Dick's BPD career than a three year estrangement. This is set between Dick's move to Bludhaven and Jason's arrival at the Manor. Happy reading!**

* * *

"Ah, Mr. Wayne!" an ancient-looking woman exclaimed, sweeping up in a gown whose style matched her age. "It's wonderful to see you here this evening. I wasn't sure you'd come, you know, and I've missed your handsome face since last year's Foundation fundraiser. I needed another fix," she tittered.

"Thank you, Mrs. Benning," the billionaire replied, wrestling to keep confusion out of his smile. _…Why the hell wouldn't I come to my own charity's benefit?_ he wondered. "You look lovely this evening," was tacked on as decades of Alfred's etiquette lectures kicked in.

"Oh! Flatterer," she accused with as girlish a giggle as her octogenarian vocal cords could summon up. "Likewise, but then that's par for the course for you. Although I must say that I would have cut you a little slack tonight, given the circumstances." A frail, gloved hand reached out to pat his elbow condescendingly. "You poor dear."

"...I'm sorry, Mrs. Benning," Bruce allowed a trace of consternation to slip into his expression, "but I don't understand what you're referencing. What 'circumstances' do you mean?"

She startled slightly, taken aback by his question. "Well, the awful news about the boy you took in all those years ago, of course! It's _dreadful, _and I'm so sorry to bring it up, but you did ask. Really, though, you needn't have come out for at least, oh, a year or so after suffering such a terrible thing."

For the briefest moment his blood ran cold. _…What is she talking about?!_ he scrabbled. _Does she know something that I don't? None of these people had to drive as far as I did to get here, and I didn't have the radio on…did something happen in Bludhaven? He said he was on shift tonight...I know he's still a rookie, but he's so damn talented they might have sent him out on his own. Even with a partner, he always manages to find trouble. Oh, jesus, let my baby be okay…Wait. Alfred would have called me if something had happened, though,_ he throttled back down as quickly as he'd revved up. _Alfred would make them interrupt the banquet to get me if something had happened to Dick. He wouldn't let me go on not knowing. It's okay. He's…he's okay. Get a hold of yourself, Wayne. Don't you dare crack in front of these people, you'll never live it down._ "I'm still not quite sure what 'awful news' you've heard that I haven't," he blinked bemusedly. "Would you mind enlightening me?"

Mrs. Benning gave him a hard look. "…You _are_ putting on a brave face, aren't you?" she nearly cooed, the gentleness of her voice belief by the icy glint in her eyes. "I'm referring, of course, to the young man's decision to enter into-" she gave a haughty sniff "-_police work. _What a blow that must have been to you, after all the efforts you put in. I realize it's been ten months since the word broke in the papers, but such betrayals take time to truly get over."

_…Are you for real, lady?_ _Yes, Dick's a cop now, but…why would that upset me?_ His son's career choice _did_ bother him, if he wanted to be truthful with himself, but not in the manner the elderly heiress seemed to be implying. _He's doubling his chances of being hurt or…or worse,_ he reviewed the same fears that had swirled regularly in his head ever since the fateful night he and his boy had sat down to have a serious conversation about the future. _More than that, really, because now he's going out at night both mentally __and__ physically exhausted from his civilian pursuits. And he's so far away,_ he pouted to himself. _I know it's just across the river, and he's been good about calling regularly, but…it's still a long distance._

_But I have no reason to be ashamed of him,_ he rejected his conversation partner's subtle suggestion without so much as a second's hesitation. _We talked, and he convinced me that his decision was a rational one. Why would I be disappointed in him for using the tools I gave him to pursue his dreams? Isn't that what you're __supposed__ to do with children?_ "We spoke at great length before he enrolled in the police academy," he informed the matriarch. "I supported his decision to leave school and pursue a career, and I still do." _Eventually,_ he cringed, remembering their last fight. _I was a jackass about it, but...he brought me around. He's good at that, no matter what the topic._

"…You don't feel it was disrespectful to you, to turn his back on everything you tried to inculcate in him and revert to his…shall we say more blue-collar roots? Good heavens, _I'd_ be mortified," she arched eyebrow.

"Mrs. Benning," Bruce's lips tightened painfully over his teeth as he fought to keep a smile plastered onto his face, "I don't consider helping people who cannot help themselves to be the specific purview of any one group, but rather the responsibility of everyone who is able. My son is able and willing to perform police work, so he became an officer of the law. A very good one, by the way," he added tersely, "who despite only having been out of the Academy for three months has already earned a commendation for bravery."

"Of course," she simpered, backpedaling from the thinly-veiled steel in his voice. "You're right, of _course_. I certainly didn't mean to imply that you ought to, say, put him away in favor of fathering a child who would be better able to live up to your family's heritage by sheer dint of blood. Far from it," her lips spoke as her gaze objected. "I simply wanted to offer my condolences that, despite all of the efforts you put into transforming that child from a circus drifter into a respectable man of society, he seems to have turned out so very…_average_."

_Average?!_ The billionaire tasted blood as he bit down on his tongue. _My Dick is so above and beyond that word in every way that matters that…that…that you have no idea,_ he nearly foamed. "…Mrs. Benning," he asked slowly, his teeth grinding, "have you ever _met_ my son?"

"Oh, I'm sure I have," she waved away. "He just must not have made much of an impression on me. But I meet so many children, you know. Come now, Mr. Wayne," she gave him a malt-shoppe coquette smile, "surely you aren't miffed with me over our little conversation? I only wished to let you know that my thoughts are with you. I understand the pain of watching someone you've poured your every resource into training for a life of dignity morph into a sickening parody of yourself. Look at my Rudolf over there at the drinks table, for instance," she gestured. "He's been here a mere twenty minutes, and he's already halfway to total inebriation. That was easy enough to excuse when he was in his twenties and such things were expected, but now…well, I suppose I have to just be grateful to Clothilda for managing to get my precious grandbabies out of him before he drank himself into impotence. Perhaps you'll have the same luck down the line with your throwback. But then, my son's children had two excellent bloodlines to call upon…" She trailed off sighing. "Well, my dear, I'll hope for the best for you, in any case."

..._Are you trying to insult me, invoke pity, or do both at the same time?_ Bruce boggled, his mental voice coming out slack-jawed to make up for the rigid control he was maintaining over his visible expression. _Dick being a cop isn't an insult, it's a compliment. I don't pity you for having raised an alcoholic whose only contribution to society thus far has been not going out into it very often; I pity __him__ for growing up with someone like you for a parent. I've never thought this about someone so much older than I am – being raised by Alfred will ensure that __any__ kid learns to respect their elders – but Doris Benning, you are a bitch. _"Yes, well," he ground out, "thank you. If you'll excuse me, I ought to go and greet some of the other regular contributors. Please…enjoy your evening."

"Of course! I won't hold you. I'm sure there are several others whom you only see once or twice a year who want to extend their own heartfelt commiserations about your plight. Most of us haven't had _quite_ as extreme a fall to deal with," she whispered conspiratorially, "but you and I are far from the only ones in this room who have a failed child on our consciences. Have a good night, dear. Do _try_ to put it out of your mind, if only for an hour or two, hmm?"

The moment she was out of earshot, the billionaire felt a tooth crack at the back of his mouth. _Ow, son of a bitch!_ His hand jerked at his side, aching to reach for his suddenly throbbing jaw, then settled back. _No. No weakness, not in front of her. I'd heard she could be nasty, but that…that was disgusting._ He paused, a disturbing thought coming into his mind. _…If she was in danger, could I still save her, after what she just said? I…I don't know._ Giving a quiet harrumph, he turned back into the maw of the pre-dinner cocktail party. _She'd better just hope she doesn't need Batman tonight. Tomorrow she might have a hell of a lot better chance, but right now…right now I'd feel like a traitor for helping the old hag._

Nursing the pain at the base of his face with carefully directed sips of whisky held his attention for most of the remainder of the evening. To the benefit of their health, no one else mentioned Dick's 'awful' decision to protect and serve, but every time Bruce caught sight of Doris Benning it was blatantly obvious that she was lamenting his supposed ill fortune to anyone who would listen. His mood picked up slightly as he saw several people walk away from her with uncomfortable looks, and by the time dinner was served he had cooled down to half-froth. Chewing everything on one side of his mouth wasn't exactly pleasant, but he persevered, grateful for the distance between his chair and that of the old woman.

It was only as he was leaving at the end of the night that she dared approach him again. "Good night, Mr. Wayne," she waved airily with the hand that wasn't wrapped around her cane. "And buck up! You're still plenty young enough to try for a keeper."

Had the valet not pulled up with his car at that very moment, he might very well have tackled the decrepit old witch. As it was, he simply nodded politely and climbed into the Jaguar. His mangled molar shrieked as he applied fresh pressure to it for the sole purpose of keeping his uppermost thoughts from exiting his mouth, and it was only once his tormentor had faded in the rear view mirror that he ceased torturing himself orally. "Rancid society whore," he muttered, sticking a finger in his mouth and probing cautiously as he headed into the hills. "…Fuck," he added when a rill of red came back under his fingernail. _Alfred's going to have a field day picking chunks of tooth out of my gums. Great._ _What do you think, Mrs. Benning?_ he growled to himself. _Am I young enough to try for a 'keeper' tooth? Because frankly, I'm fine with the ones I came by in the course of life. _

Her nastiest barbs replayed in his head on a continual loop as he stewed the entire way home. It was only after he'd slammed the car door in the garage that he paused, his eyes drawn to the large mechanic's bay at the far end of the line of automobiles he'd parked in. _…I'd almost forgotten,_ his mien softened, his fingers trailing along the Jaguar's sleek hide. _How ironic is it that she tossed all those insults my way only for me to drive home in the car that Dick and I worked on together?_ _That was a good year,_ he thought wistfully.

The half-dismantled import had been purchased with the idea that they would rebuild it so that it could become Dick's first car, but after thirteen months of long weekend afternoons spent hunched over and crouched beneath the thing Bruce had realized that he was loath to let go of it. It was a rare symbol of quality time spent together in the civilian world, and he had wanted nothing more than to hold onto it as a symbol of their precious relationship. The teen, being as he usually was frighteningly well tuned-in to his guardian's emotions, had seen the battle going on in the man's head and suggested that he hold onto it for him. Bruce had objected, albeit weakly, but Dick countered that now that the machine was cleaned up it was obviously too fancy of a vehicle to give to someone who could barely shave, especially when said person had learned to drive in the Batmobile and would probably put the pedal straight to the floor from sheer habit.

_ He knows me too well,_ the billionaire smiled and patted the hood before making his way towards the house. _Gave me the car we built together and asked for a motorcycle he could ride without a mask instead. __Fuck you, Mrs. Benning, _he cursed. _I raised a damn good kid. My son saves lives; yours can't even save his own brain cells from the liquor he's drowning them in. You have no right to criticize him, or me, for that matter._

Alfred was waiting patiently for him inside. "...Sorry," Bruce apologized, sounding as if he were speaking around a marshmallow. "It was a long evening."

"These events usually take many hours, sir," the butler nodded understandingly. "...Master Dick called while you were out, by the way."

"Huh?"

Alfred frowned. "Whatever is wrong with your speech? Did you hurt your mouth?"

"Oh. Yeah, but...it's nothing," he tried to dodge the older man's question, his worry piqued by the unsolicited mentioning of his son. "Is Dick all right?"

"He sounded perfectly well, sir. I daresay I can usually pick up when he's sick or injured," the Englishman arched an eyebrow, "and I don't believe that there's any reason to worry in his case. He _did _seem a bit pensive, I suppose; perhaps you ought to call him back. He said he wasn't planning on going out again tonight, so you should be able to catch him home."

"...Yeah. I'll do that," the billionaire nodded, already turning towards the west wing and his study.

"I left pajamas on your bed if you'd like to change first," Alfred called after him pointedly.

"I will when I'm done," he answered distractedly. _Pensive? What's going on? Something could have happened on his patrol...if he wasn't hurt, maybe someone else was. Damn it, it's so hard to read him over the phone sometimes, though...maybe I should go to Bludhaven._ He paused halfway down the hall. _...No, he'll just get huffy and say that I'm smothering him. I'd be an idiot to go running to him; I don't want to drive him away by surrounding him with things that __I__ think he needs__. Hell, that's half the reason he moved across the river to begin with. No, I'll just call and try to assess whether or not he needs me in person, I guess..._

Dropping heavily into his chair, Bruce reached for the phone. _...You said you were staying in tonight,_ he fretted as the line rang three times and started on a fourth tone. _Why aren't you answering?_

"...Helloooo?" the greeting drew out in a yawn.

"Dick?" _Shit. You were sleeping. _"Sorry, chum, but Alfred said you called earlier. I just got home. Is...is everything okay?"

"Um...oh, yeah. Heh. Here, let me..." Vague rustling noises came through as he repositioned himself in bed. "There. Okay...yeah, I called. Alfred said you were at the Foundation banquet, though." He paused. "How was it?"

"It was fine. Normal both in take and enjoyability."

"So excellent in the former and dismal in the latter?"

"Right."

"...What's wrong with your mouth?" came a suspicious query.

"Nothing." Silence. "...I cracked a tooth."

"Has Alfred seen it?"

"I'll let him look later. I already rinsed it with alcohol, it's just tender."

"Uh-huh. Let him see it before you go to bed, would you? I don't have any vacation time yet. If you come down with an infection, I lose hours coming to see you."

"Because you need a job for the money," Bruce rolled his eyes and then, recollecting the sallow skin and purple nose of Rudolf Benning, changed the subject. "What about your patrol?" he asked. "Everything okay?"

"Are you kidding? Everything's great!"

"Oh. Well, good," his shoulders slumped in relief. _Not just good. Great. And here I was thinking you'd been hurt..._

"Actually...that's why I called."

"What is?"

"Patrol. I just...I had a _great_ night tonight. I feel like I'm starting to really get the swing of things. We busted up a drug ring, I tackled a guy who was beating up his girlfriend, my partner complimented me...and people, like, _civilians,_ actually said something, too. Usually they're too afraid to do anything but stare, you know, but...as a cop, they sometimes _thank_ you. Like, heartfeltly. I found that out tonight. That was...it was amazing. I can't even tell you, really."

In his study, the man smiled softly. "...I'm glad, kiddo."

"Me, too. And that's why I wanted to call, was...well, I was coming home, and I was thinking about that night we talked. After...after we fought. You remember. Anyway, I realized just how grateful I am that you actually listened to what I was saying, and thought about it, and gave me your blessing. I know that can't have been easy for you to do. I know you really wanted me to finish school, but...I'm happy doing this, Bruce. Being a cop, and being Nightwing – relax, I'm monitoring the line – ...don't get me wrong, I loved being Robin, but I'm starting to understand why you're so protective of Gotham. It's _your_ city. Bludhaven's becoming that way to me, I think, especially now that the Academy's done and I can be out on the streets twice as much. I get it, Bruce. I really _get it_ now, and...and I just wanted to thank you for giving me that opportunity. _This_ opportunity. I wanted you to know how much I appreciate it."

The billionaire stared at the empty chair across from him with wet eyes. _Oh, that night,_ he sighed to himself, flashing back to the conversation that Dick was referencing and which he himself had thought of when Mrs. Benning was lobbing her cruel insinuations. _I still can't believe that anything good came of it..._

It had been an ugly week for both of them, that first Christmas after the teen started college. Dick had come home for the holiday in an unusually withdrawn mood, causing his guardian to hover from the start, looking for clues as to what was wrong. It had aggravated the younger man, used after the last four months to being left to his own devices unless he picked up the phone, and finally he'd snapped. Their fight had been horrendous, particularly after Dick had announced that he had no intention of returning to school at the end of the vacation. That had been the breaking point for Bruce, who had laid down the law and ordered his son not to speak to him until he'd thought about what he was doing to himself by giving up on higher education.

He had never intended for him to leave the house to do that thinking, but leave Dick had, disappearing for three days straight without a trace. They had bickered on the twenty-third, and as a result all three of them passed a bitter, aching Christmas. The billionaire, unable to find anything even as Batman, had been about ready to report his child missing when he'd slipped through the front door with an apologetic but set expression. After Alfred had done his obligatory checks and could rest his mind that his younger charge was uninjured, Bruce had beckoned the runaway back into the study and sat him down. "...We need to talk," he'd begun shakily.

"Yeah," Dick had nodded. "But that means that you need to _listen_, okay? Actually hear me out this time. You said you wanted me to think about my future if I left school; well, I _did_ that. You're not going to like what I have to say, but before I get going I want to know that you're actually going to consider what I've decided and not just write it off as me not knowing what I'm saying. Deal?"

Watching him that evening, Bruce had been faced not with the boy he'd packed off to university in the fall and argued with a half a week before but rather with the man he'd raised that boy to become. _...He's already made up his mind about what he's going to do,_ he'd realized slowly. _He's already set his course, but...he came home anyway. He came home for...for what, my approval? My okay? My...my blessing? Shit...you never miss a trick, do you, chum?_ "...I agree," he'd choked out, well aware that turning away from him now might cause their next miserable separation to stretch in to three years instead of a mere three days. "Go ahead."

After a mutually measuring glance, they had talked. For hours and hours they had talked, sometimes debating, sometimes reaching an accord, but always speaking with a new level of respect for one another that superseded even the old easy partnership of Batman and Robin. As much as the billionaire hated some of what Dick proposed that night – the moving to Bludhaven, the police job, the new, more adult secret identity – he managed to hold himself back from blind reaction long enough to grasp _why_ his son wanted those things. That self-control had made all the difference in the world, he knew, and had led them to be talking now about what that night had wrought.

"...Bruce?"

"Still here," he jerked in his seat. "I was just...look, you had to do what you had to do, Dick. And I...I had to realize that you aren't a child any more. All I could see was you throwing your life away, and...and I couldn't let that happen, do you understand?"

"Yeeeah...I know that was how you felt. That's why I'm so grateful that you were able to hold yourself back and give me a chance to do things my way."

"...I was wrong, chum."

"Wait, what?" came a shocked little squeak.

"I was wrong. You're happy in this life you've made for yourself, and...and that's more important to me than any degree in existence." _You're happy, you're a good person, and you give so much more of yourself to others than I think anyone really understands. Who cares whether or not you have some stupid certification? _"I should have listened to you all of those times when you called home from school and said you felt like you weren't learning anything, or that the only time you felt you were really accomplishing anything of worth was when you were out as Robin. I'm glad you called me out on my pig-headedness, Dick," he whispered. "I'm glad you made me see what it was you really wanted, what you really needed. I'm...I'm so proud of you, son. I..I want you to know that."

There was a long silence. "Bruuuuce," came a sniffly groan from the Bludhaven end of the line. "I...when did you get so sappy? Damn it...now my pillow's going to be all wet..."

Recognizing the words as the other man's attempt to not burst into tears on the phone, Bruce smiled and swiped at his own damp cheeks. "You were trained to be resourceful. I'm sure you'll figure out a solution," he jested.

"Well I _would_ just turn it over, but knowing you you'll pick that moment to say something else just as uncharacteristically sweet and loving and make me start up all over again," Dick pouted back playfully. "So I think I'll wait until we get off the phone, _then_ flip it over."

"I could send you an uncharacteristically sweet text after our conversation, if I wanted to be cruel."

"...Nah, you wouldn't. I could use it for blackmail down the road, and you know it."

"...You know me too well, chum," the billionaire smirked.

"Nope. Just the right amount."

"Hmm," Bruce made a pleased little sound. "Well...look, it's late." _Time for little Robins to be in bed,_ he held back. "You have work in the morning, right?"

"Twelve hour shift, six am to six pm."

"When's your next day off?"

"Monday."

"...Alfred's standing in the doorway," he lied through his teeth. "He's giving me a look like I should tell you to come home for Sunday dinner after work."

"...Bruce."

"Yeah?"

"...We both know Alfred wouldn't intrude on any conversation you were having with me after a Wayne Foundation dinner."

"He didn't have to. I can already see the glare I'd get if I _didn't_ ask you to come over tomorrow."

"Uh-huh," Dick answered knowingly. "Well, if I'm coming home for dinner tomorrow and I have Monday off, I guess I might as well just stay over and leave on Tuesday morning," he said, a wink evident in his voice. "You can tell me about all the snobs you got to hang out with tonight. You know I love those stories."

Bruce snorted. "Almost as much as I hate telling them. But okay. If," he added a semi- imperative, "you think you can manage a joint patrol tomorrow night?"

"It's cute how you think I'd come home overnight and _not_ patrol with you. Deal."

"Good." Neither spoke for a moment. "...Good night, Dick. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Night, Bruce. Love you."

With that the call ended, leaving the billionaire to consider the phone in his hand for a second before he dropped it back onto the cradle. Finally he rose and headed for the door, a wicked grin coming over his face as he replayed his son's last two words in his head. _When was the last time your kid told you, with all the honesty in the world and with no eye towards money or favors, that they loved you, Doris Benning?_ _Because mine says it to me every time we say goodbye. And cop or not,_ he grinned, reaching for the light, _I couldn't be prouder of him if I tried. _


End file.
